


Melting Ice

by mysticmjolnir (empressmaude)



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Intersex, Loki with boobs, M/M, in heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 15:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressmaude/pseuds/mysticmjolnir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor is visiting Jotunheim to try and secure an alliance between his people and the Jotnar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melting Ice

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](mysticmjolnir)

“Are you lost, Prince Thor?”

“Yes,” Thor lies instinctively. He turns slowly on his heel to face the person behind him, mentally girding himself for the sight.

There is nothing particularly fearsome about Prince Loki of Jotunheim's appearance at this moment, but Thor still trembles to look upon him. He is half the size of any other Frost Giant, almost the exact height of Thor himself, and in fact is the most uncommon Jotunn Thor has ever met in nearly every detail. His blue skin, crimson eyes and curious swirling lines across his skin mark him as one, but he has long, lustrous black hair swept into a high knot on his head and decorated with pretty stones, the most sinful smirk that Thor has seen and-

And...well, breasts.

Before he was sent to Jotunheim, Thor's mother had gone through a long list of things he should be aware of about the Jotnar as an actual people rather than a mere set of occasional adversaries, so he knows exactly why Loki looks the way he does. The Jotnar have strange and unique breeding habits, as well as a single gender (Thor has known that rather distantly for a long time, but rarely given it much thought) – their reproductive systems are dormant most of the time, but they experience a 'heat', a regular time of fertility where their bodies prepare for childbearing by, among other less visible changes, growing a pair of breasts. Frigga had strongly impressed on him the need to neither goad nor gawp at any of them, and Thor had listened well, and accepted her words as gracefully as he had accepted his father's decision to treat with the Frost Giants instead of continuing an apathetic state of war with them. He has come to Jotunheim with an honest desire to make peaceful and honourable dealings with Laufey and his people in Odin-Allfather's name, and for the most part, he thinks he has succeeded. He has not engaged in any battles other than mostly-friendly sparring matches, he has not made any conscious insult towards any people of the palace that he has met and has apologised sincerely for any inadvertent offences, he has not destroyed any property or trodden where he was not invited, and, most importantly, he has not taken the obviously-in-heat second prince of Jotunheim to his bed to discover the precise differences between Aesir and Jotnar anatomy and their exact level of compatibility.

Thor is rather proud of himself for his dedication to diplomacy. Neither Frigga nor Odin said specifically that bedding the locals would be unwise, but he gets the feeling that bedding Loki, who is delicious to look upon and more tempting than an oasis in a desert, might possibly bring down the entire nine realms in consequence. And that would be bad, Thor reminds himself.

Loki is looking delectable as usual – his hair is partially swept up on top of his head, pulled back from his face except for a few loosened locks possibly calculated to make Thor's fingers itch with the desire to toy with them. His horns curve gracefully up from his temples, textured and strangely tempting (but Thor knows better than to touch without particular invitation). He wears nothing but a kilt and his jewellery, as do most Jotnar, but somehow managed to wear them both with unique sensuality; the gold and jewels highlight the lovely tones of his skin, an intricate belt holds his skirt in place over the sweet swell of his hips, and the silk whispering over his thighs makes Thor long to tear it away. The strange, strange markings over his skin swirl and swoop over lean muscle and plump flesh and add an alluring texture to his skin – and the patterns on his chest and shoulders follow the curves of his breasts, high and ripe and-

Thor forces himself to look up from Loki's chest, silently cursing himself for being so obvious. There are other Jotnar in similar states, he knows because he has seen them, but never did he feel the urge to ogle and touch as he does with Loki. They were curious to look upon, certainly, but it wasn't a hardship to politely look away rather than stare. When Thor looks away from Loki he feels his chest ache, and when he does look, something within him hums quietly. He wants, he wants so very badly, and he fears that diplomacy is not going to be a good enough reason for him to resist.

“Yes, I am lost, Prince Loki,” he forces himself to say. It is not completely untrue – he is not very sure where he is, but his wanderings had a purpose. He was looking for Loki. The Prince had been absent from the midday meal they shared, and from the communal breakfast, and Thor had been...not worried, worry for Loki in his own home would be absurd, but puzzled, and strangely unsatisfied even when he had eaten his fill. After a lonely luncheon he had begun drifting around the palace unaccompanied, admiring the icy architecture until he realised he had no idea where he was, and secretly hoping this exact situation would occur.

Loki moves closer, a wicked smile still playing on his lips. “Perhaps I should rescue you then,” he suggests, not stopping until he is only a few inches away from Thor, bare breasts brushing against Thor's furs with every inhalation. Thor has tried very hard not to noticed the twin gold bars pushed through Loki's nipples, emerald chips glittering against blue skin, but he has failed badly. “Do you need rescuing, Prince Thor?” He is a few inches shorter than Thor, as well as barefooted, and tips his neck up to smirk into Thor's face. A heavy golden torc around his throat highlights the slim length of it, begging to be kissed until Thor learns what colour Jotunn skin turns when bruised with love-bites.

Thor should make his excuses and back away. He is a diplomat, diplomats don’t dally with fellow princes. Loki’s reputation as a rascal has only been confirmed as Thor has got to know him - he loves games, and tells two lies for every truth. Laufey might slay him if he found out. Odin would definitely slay him. 

None of that seems very convincing against the obvious lust on Loki’s face, and the answering heat growing within Thor’s belly. 

The wall behind him is nearest, so that is where he shoves Loki, grabbing the Prince's shoulders and turning them suddenly. Loki gasps but does not fight; in fact, he reaches out to pulls Thor in closer, arching deliberately against him. “I've been waiting-” but Thor has no interest in Loki's words, only the hot sweetness of his mouth which he plunders greedily, hands running all over azure skin that he has been panting over for days.

Loki moans and kisses back for a moment before shoving hard at Thor's chest. He manages to get space between them – Thor growls and tries to reclaim it, but Loki's cool finger across his lips stills him. “My room,” whispers Loki huskily, and grabs Thor's hand, pulling him along.

They run like excited children along the corridors, furtively hiding from the sight of the guards as Loki leads Thor to his chambers, not daring once to stop and kiss in case they cannot bear to part again.

Finally, Loki pushes open a door and drags Thor inside. Thor barely gets to glance at the room before Loki shoves him up against the door, biting at his lower lip with a growl. Cool hands find the gaps in his clothes and slide through, making Thor shiver with surprise and lust. He runs his own palms over Loki's back, urging him closer as they kiss passionately.

With impressive speed Loki has Thor stripped down to his undershirt and leggings. Despite his rapidly growing arousal, Thor begins to shiver from the cold, and Loki growls out a spell that makes Thor's skin tingle and feel comfortably warm once again, and begins tugging him away from the door. Thor is a little alarmed at how eagerly he responds to being pushed around by the Jotunn Prince, and resolves not to let himself be ruled for long by such an obvious despot.

Loki gives him a rough shove and Thor tumbles down into a chair so hard the air is knocked out of his lungs. Loki gives him no time at all to recover, and straddles his lap, settling comfortably on Thor's thighs. He smirks, looking smugly satisfied, and Thor reaches up to run a hand over his hair, seeking the tie or clasp that holds it up. After a moment of useless fumbling, Loki tuts and does it himself, pulling out a pair of jagged ice shards that apparently kept the knot in place, and his tresses spill down down over his shoulders and chest. The movement draws Thor's gaze back to Loki's breasts, and his mouth waters at the sight of dark blue nipples half-covered by thick black locks.

“Touch me,” demands Loki, putting his shoulders back and pushing his chest forward. “I'm tired of only feeling your eyes on me, Thunderer.”

Strangely, the first impulse Thor gives into is to tuck Loki's hair tenderly behind his ear, and letting his fingers trail over the swirls that mark his forehead and cheek. Loki closes his eyes with a soft sigh, leaning into Thor's palm as it slides down, over his jaw and throat, until finally drifting down to cup Loki's breast. Loki gives a loud moan, so exaggerated that Thor thinks for a moment he is being mocked - until he looks up and sees Loki's face, flushed and gasping, and realises that Loki is truly just as starved as he is.

The knowledge makes him bolder, and he rubs his thumb slowly and deliberately over a hard nipple, flicking the gold bar that pierces through it and grinning when Loki hisses and clenches his jaw in pleasure. He brushes back Loki's hair over his shoulders, then leans forward and presses admiring kisses along his collarbone, enjoying the difference in temperature lingering through Loki's spell. Loki's fingers slide into his hair, stroking at first before tightening and yanking Thor's head back.

“No teasing,” he hisses, crimson eyes suddenly bare inches from Thor's own, bewitching as the rest of him. “You have been staring at me like a piece of meat for days now, Odinson, and I am sick of it. If you want to be in my bed tonight, you will have to give me more than teasing. Or are the tales all false, and you no more a great lover than you are a warrior?”

Thor stares back, undaunted by Loki's peculiar rage. The Prince's temper is as notorious as his own, and even more volatile. He smiles pleasantly, and presses his fingertips in a circle around Loki's breast, feeling how perfectly it fits into his hand. “If you wish to duel, we can go to the arena right now,” he murmurs. “But I was well cautioned before I came not to answer taunts from surly Jotnar.”

Loki only looks angier, and Thor brings his second hand up to cup Loki's other breast, gently massaging the cold, firm flesh as well as he can with Loki looming so. “Let me win my way into your bed,” he appeals, thinking of all the things he has been denying himself even the pleasure of imagining for days, all the ways he longs to worship Loki's body before finally fucking him. He leans up and tastes the curve of Loki's lip, savouring the sweet, crisp taste, and slowly Loki's grip on his hair turns back into an encouraging caress.

“No teasing,” repeats Loki, but it is a token warning now, and he is melting under Thor's touch. Thor trails his tongue along the lines on Loki's chest, then lifts his breast for kisses there, suckling on each nipple in turn until Loki is writhing and crying out. He does tease, because Loki has done nothing but tease him this past week and it feels like the sweetest justice to have Loki moaning and squirming in his lap, hair tumbling everywhere as he wriggles and a growing heat against Thor's thighs.

“Enough!” Loki barks eventually, scrambling out of Thor's lap and onto his own feet. Thor doesn't follow, and simply admires his work for a moment – Loki's hair was apparently held so tightly in that knot for so long because when released it turns into a unruly cascade that frames his flushed face and breasts perfectly. Thor has made fewer marks than he'd hoped – although, the Jotnar have always been somewhat hardier than other races – but Loki's nipple are dark and shiny from his kisses, and there are a few faint shadows here and there left by Thor's lips and the roughness of his beard.

Loki is panting and glaring, looking as peeved as he is aroused. Thor cannot imagine why the Jotunn Prince is so vexed, since he has been seducing Thor for days and now they are finally moments from consummating their mutual lust, but it provokes a perverse desire in him to needle Loki further, to see how het up he can make Loki simply by not bowing precisely to his whims. It's possible that if too riled Loki will throw him out, but Thor doubts it – Loki wants this as much as Thor does, he is certain, and nothing short of a hurricane would tear Thor away now.

He stands, and reaches out to pull Loki closer and kiss him anew, palms ghosting down over the swell of his hips and up again. Loki bites playfully at his lips, but rather than retaliate, Thor simply picks Loki up and tosses him onto the nearby bed. Loki yelps in surprise, and rolls into a crouch, now sporting a wicked grin instead of a scowl. Thor likes it much better, and strips off his shirt before joining Loki, wrestling playfully before letting himself be shoved down against the pillows and straddled again. Loki lays one palm flat on Thor's chest, caressing him almost thoughtfully. “What made you change your mind?” he asks suddenly, a fresh frown on his face. “Why now, why today?”

Thor shrugs, hands moving up Loki's thighs to pull at the belt holding his skirt in place, toying with the intricate golden buckle. “I thought of returning to Asgard without having kissed you,” he admits, abandoning the belt to chase his fingertips along the lines on Loki's thighs. “And I could not bear it.”

“Then why did you resist before?” persists Loki, leaning his weight onto his hands against Thor's chest and staring down at him. “What kept you away?”

Thor slips a hand under Loki's skirt and wraps around hard flesh, still cooler than Thor's skin but slightly warmer than the rest of Loki. “Do you really wish to speak of this now?” he asks, deliberately squeezing until Loki's eyes flutter shut. “Or shall we make up for lost time?”

Loki's nails cut into his skin, hard enough to make Thor wince in pain, but he nods. “We shall,” he purrs, and suddenly dives to the side, tumbling onto his back and hauling Thor to lie over him. Thor lands between Loki's knees, falling flush against him and looking down at the startling red of his eyes. “So make it up to me.” His hands pushing down on Thor's shoulders make it clear reparations he wants, and Thor wriggles down the bed, pausing to lave kisses across Loki's breasts once more and suck at his pierced nipple until Loki cries out and bucks beneath him. He mouths along Loki's markings down over his belly until he meets the still fastened belt and the tell-tale bulge beneath the silk, and sits up a little to admire the Jotunn spread out before him.

Loki is gorgeous, his chest heaving with passion and cheeks flushed to a dark blue, lips pulled into a smirk that is ruined by how he has to pant for breath. His hair is now an utter mess, spread across the pillows and his shoulders in a dark, tangled cloud, one lock draped inelegantly over his left horn. He is unlike anything Thor has ever seen, the most exotic lover Thor has ever had, and yet it is not his strangeness that beckons Thor so irresistibly; it is the way he tilts his head in a constant challenge, his boldness and talent for trickery, his clever, cutting tongue. He is all that Thor has never known he wanted, and for a moment Thor is helplessly lost in love of him, gazing at Loki instead of attending to his lust.

“What?” snaps Loki, displeased by Thor's sudden stillness. “What is it?” One leg curls over Thor's back, as if to hold him fast if Thor tries to leave.

“You are beautiful,” Thor tells him, and sees a surprised and genuine look of delight on Loki's face before the Prince turns away, lips twisting. He reaches down, palms ghosting over his own breasts down his belly to the buckle of his belt, and unfastens it easily with a flick of his fingers.

The belt slithers apart, taking the silken folds of the skirt with it, and Thor is finally confronted with Loki's swollen sex, his cock, long and thick and flushed indigo, far paler than the colour of his blushing cheeks, and below, his slick and ready cunt, glistening and plump with arousal and too lovely for Thor to resist bending his head and tasting Loki there.

Loki gives a surprised yelp that quickly trails into a guttural moan as Thor continues to explore with his tongue, licking and sucking gently to see what other sounds he can draw from Loki. He finds a nub of flesh tucked below the base of Loki's cock and flicks his tongue over it; Loki cries out loudly and grabs a handful of Thor's hair and lifts his hips, pushing his face further into Loki's crotch. Thor allows himself a grin of triumph and sets to work, working his fingers into Loki's cunt while lavishing his clit, then kissing up his cock and sucking the head into his mouth while Loki squirms and moans.

“Thor,” gasps Loki, hips bucking harder as his back arches off the bed, “Oh, Thor-” He comes, twitching in Thor's mouth and clenching around his fingers, wailing his pleasure with abandon. Thor swallows the spend now in his mouth, and sits up, intending to taste the fluids now covering his hand, but the moment he tries to rise he is yanked down again, hauled up the bed with surprising strength so Loki can kiss him. He kisses back joyfully, revelling in the soft feel of Loki's naked breasts pressed against his own chest as Loki moans into his mouth, legs wrapping around Thor's waist in unmistakeable demand.

Thor obeys, pleased that Loki's passions seems to have grown rather than waned with his release, and draws away for just a moment to strip out of his now uncomfortable trousers before settling back between Loki's thighs, pleading forgiveness for his brief absence with more kisses. He reaches down between them to angle himself properly and sinks into Loki's ready cunt as Loki gasps against his mouth. “Yes, yes,” moans Loki, one hand clawing at Thor's back and the other gripping his hair just hard enough to hurt. “Thor...”

“Loki,” murmurs Thor, and kisses him again, hands tight on Loki's hips as he starts to move. Slowly at first, trying to savour their first coupling, before his own lust overtakes him and he drives harder and faster into Loki, the slap of their flesh mingling with Loki's wanton moans and Thor's pants and grunts. “Loki,” he gasps again, covering Loki's mouth with his but too carried away to kiss him properly, content with sharing breath and absorbing Loki's cries.

Loki comes before Thor, transforming into a shuddering, sobbing thing beneath him as Thor fucks him right through it, then subsides, turning pliant and favouring Thor with lazy kisses along his jaw while Thor growls and clutches tighter, chasing his pleasure with little thought else. He spills deep inside Loki, crying out the Prince's name, and Loki only clings harder, sipping the words from Thor's lips like the finest of wines.

Afterwards, Thor lays atop Loki, trying to catch his breath and not inclined to move, and Loki lets him, stroking the hair from his brow and giving him a glowing smile. “Worth waiting for, since you made me wait,” says Loki, and Thor has a feeling he will be suffering for his reticence for some time to come.

Carefully he eases out of Loki, now aware of the mess they have made between them and intending to find something to wash them with. “Where are you going?” snaps Loki, dragging him back down and pressing his weight against Thor's side. “I did not say you could leave me, Asgardian.”

“I thought to fetch water and a cloth,” Thor answers, bemused by Loki's paranoia, but settles for wiping his belly with an edge of the sheet instead. Loki does the same, and they curl up together on their sides, Loki's leg flung over Thor's hip in an obvious demonstration of possession.

A thought occurs to Thor, that perhaps should have bothered him sometime earlier. He strokes his fingers down Loki's cheek, wondering how to phrase his query without appearing insulting. “Loki...”

“Hmm?” Loki appears to be drifting off to sleep, for all they both have a diplomatic meeting to attend in a few hours.

Thor opens his mouth, then shuts it. Loki is in heat, but he knows best how to manage his own body and there is little chance he would have brought Thor to his bedchamber without taking precautions of his own. The thought of a child occurring between them sends a lick of something hot and trembling through Thor's belly, but it cannot be – they cannot be, he is here for barely two weeks more and Loki will not want some foreign prince in his bed nor bastard in his belly after their mutual passion is spent. Unless he would? Thor is barely certain of how he himself feels, except that he cannot imagine wanting to be parted from Loki from this moment onward.

But he will be parted from him, and he realises he must know how Loki feels in turn, so he can plan how best guard or open his heart while here. “Loki,” he says urgently, threading his fingers into thick black hair. “Loki, tell me what you want of me.”

Loki opens one annoyed scarlet eye. “What do I want of you, Thor? For now, a little quiet so I may rest, and later I think I would like to taste your cock.”

Thor groans, but does not let himself be distracted by the promise in Loki's words. “I mean, I am here for twelve days more only. I would happily share your bed for that time, but I must know...I must know how you feel.”

Loki gives an annoyed sigh, but nestles closer to Thor. “I feel like having a little fun, don't you?” he yawns, curling a hand over Thor's shoulder. “There does not need to be anything more taxing than that between us. You don't have to fear, we will be discreet and this affair will do nothing to damage the treaty. I will make sure of it.”

Even as he cuddles Loki closer, Thor feels his heart begin to ache, a heavy and sickening weight settling in his belly. So, Loki wishes a brief affair without ties. Thor swallows back his grief and sets himself to accepting that – anything more would be reaching, anyway, and he has no wish to pester Loki into a relationship that might bring ruin to both of them. Jotunheim and Asgard's friendship is too precarious to risk still, and Thor tries to tell himself that he would think that even if Loki whispered promises of love rather than merely lust.

Loki sighs again, tucking his face against Thor's shoulder. His horns feel strange pressed against Thor's neck and chin, but not unwelcome. Thor has been called greedy in the past, and perhaps he is, but he cannot bear to do anything but treasure the time he has in Loki's bed, every moment he will have in Loki's company. The next twelve days will be the most bitter-sweet of his life, he thinks, but he would not trade his place here for anything, except perhaps the princely duty that would take him away from Loki's side in the name of keeping the peace.

~#~#~

On the last morning of Thor's visit, Loki wakes alone.

At first he panics, before remembering they agreed Thor should be found in his own room today – Thor had not intended even to spend the whole night with Loki, but when the time came to sleep Loki had been unwilling to let him go, and convinced him to stay by the simple strategy of pretending to go to sleep on top of him and kicking pointedly when Thor tried to move.

When Loki remembers this, he stops fretting and rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Thor is still in the palace, he is not scheduled to leave until the afternoon. He will see him again, probably more than once, but it will be in front of others and as stilted and distant as when they were first introduced.

Loki consoles himself with thought of how they will next meet. It has been planned for years now in Loki's head; when he carefully danced his father to a peace accord (his father's mellowing in age and Helblindi's distaste for war had made it even easier than he'd anticipated when first deciding it was time to ally Jotunheim and Asgard together); when he carefully plotted the necessary dates and suggested when exactly the envoy should visit; when he whispered to his father to ask specifically for Thor to be their honored guest and waited for Odin to eventually allow it (Thor's status as a fabled Frost Giant slayer made it tricky to phrase the request convincingly, but Loki had done it in the end); when he saw Thor in the flesh for the first time, golden and beautiful, wary of his welcome but clearly doing his best to be gracious, when Thor finally succumbed and allowed himself to be pulled into Loki's bed; all along, he has known exactly how he intends to bring Thor back to Jotunheim and how he will greet him.

In a few months time, no more than four, Thor will be summoned, seized if necessary but Loki hopes he will return willingly, and led back here to Loki's rooms. Loki will be lying on his chaise, wrapped in his finest furs from head to toe, perhaps feigning a little shyness at seeing his lover again in such an awkward manner. Thor will demand to know why exactly he has been dragged back to Jotunheim – Loki will stumble through an almost-apology, then as an explanation merely let his robe slip open a little, showing his rounded belly beneath.

Thor's reaction is worryingly unknown, but Loki is fairly certain even that he is shocked or even appalled at first, he can quickly be brought around. If Thor is tolerant enough to rut with a Jotunn, he will be able to accept one bearing his child, and he is an honourable man, the rest of Loki's plan will follow naturally without Loki having to do much work at all – Thor's conscience and Laufey's wrath will do the rest.

Loki hums happily at the thought, and runs a hand over his still flat belly. He wonders what the child will look like – Jotunn-Aesir halfbreeds are unknown in recent times, although he expects that will change following the treaty. Odin-Allfather himself is the only one Loki knows of, and he cannot trust anything about that old bird to judge what his own babe will be. He hopes for a child with Loki's hair and Thor's eyes, and whatever colour and shape their body is born as he will teach them to embrace it, and how to change it when necessary. The thought of a blue-skinned heir to the throne of Asgard makes him chuckle, and although there is much work to be done before either realm would be happy with such a thing, Loki is certain it will be done. Not by him, of course. He has done enough for relations between Jotunheim and Asgard, albeit for entirely selfish reasons, and is looking forward to taking a well-earned rest from scheming as he steals every piece of Thor's heart he can and raises his child in the golden halls of Bilskinir.

This has been his plan for years. At first a mere dust-speck of thought that has been nursed into a pearl by hard work and ambition, and now is finally becoming reality. He has loved and wanted Thor Odinson from afar ever since he first heard the god's name, murmured venomously around the court, and later, spat from the lips of a Jotunn who had barely escaped Thor's first entrance into Jotunheim with his life. Loki is not usually attracted so strongly to people with such an extensive track record in annihilating his own people, but tales of Thor's strength and power had captivated him from the start. He had made sure to hear every report, whether standing by his father's side or hiding in the shadows, and has even wandered the other realms to learn more of the Thunder God. He never saw Thor except from afar, but that was fine – it was better that their first meeting was after Asgard and Jotunheim began peace talks, and Loki is not sure he could have held to his plan if confronted with Thor before now.

His hand drifts down from his belly to cup his soft cock and dip between his legs. Loki is still open and tender from the night before – Thor took their parting just as badly as Loki does, and took pains to make their last coupling as enduring as possible – and he shivers as he touches himself, a light caress that quickly turns firmer, rubbing the swollen folds of his cunt before pressing a finger within. He wraps his other hand around his cock and arches up, rocking his hips in a steady rhythm against his own hands. Loki thinks of Thor, of the delicious golden storm god who is just as passionate and powerful as he has always dreamed, of the nights they have spent together and all the nights to come, of the lifetime Loki is going to spend with Thor at his side and in his bed, and it does not take very long at all for Loki find release, crying out his pleasure to an empty room and covering his hands and stomach with come.

Loki allows himself a happy, wistful sigh as he catches his breath, then rises to wash himself and dress for the day ahead. He must be patient now, and bid Thor farewell as casually as he would any other Asgardian. They will not be parted for so very long, and he would have Thor eager but uncertain when they meet again.

~~

Nine days after Thor leaves Jotunheim, Loki's heat ends. His curves dwindle until he is his usual slim shape, the ache in his loins fades away, his menses pass as they always have. For the sixth time in his life, Loki's time of fertility elapses without incident, despite the Prince's rage and despair as he realises his plan has utterly failed. The unthinkable has happened (and Loki curses himself for not thinking of it) and he is not pregnant, no heir of Asgard grows within his womb to call Thor back to his side and the loss of that grieves Loki almost as much as the loss of his opportunity to ensnare Thor forever.

Loki refuses to leave his rooms for days once he resigns himself to the truth, despite his brothers' pleas. There is a hollow place within him that hurts too much to do else but lie on his bed and indulge in quiet anguish. He has ruined his chance by making a gamble he did not think to lose, and now...now he has lost Thor forever in his idiocy.

He could try again, perhaps. The treaty is signed and done now, it would not be entirely impossible to have Thor summoned back to Jotunheim for another diplomatic visit, in another year or so. But Loki burns with humiliation at the thought after his deliberate coldness. The hurt look on Thor's face as they parted pleased him when he saw it – it was a hurt he would soothe, a hurt that would heal and knit Thor to him tighter – but now his stomach churns with regret. He'd had every chance to snatch Thor's heart, Thor practically offered it to him on a plate that first night, but he had deliberately rebuffed it, and done so every time Thor had tried to show him some affection other than torrid love-making. With time to get over Loki, Thor is no doubt back to his old, carefree ways without a thought of Jotunheim in his head. Loki has turned himself into nothing more than a notch on the Thunderer's bedpost, and he would rather turn to stone than let it happen again.

“Loki, father wants to know if you've died or not,” calls Byleistr through the door, as Loki curls up on his bed, pretending the sheets still hold Thor's scent. “Could you let us know, so we can hold the funeral while everyone still remembers who you are?” When Loki declines to reply, he hears a heavy sigh and the door creaks as Byleistr leans his weight against it. “Come on, brother. He wasn't even that pretty.”

Loki hisses angrily and throws a pillow towards the door, but his aim is sloppy, and it barely reaches the threshold. After a moment he hears Byleistr move away, and returns silently to his grief.

Barely an hour later, there is another caller at his door. “Go away Byleistr,” Loki snarls, almost willing to exert himself enough to ensure Byleistr will stay away. His brother means well, but his concern is useless and unwelcome.

“It is I,” Laufey's low voice sounds, and Loki scowls into a cushion. Reluctantly, he lifts a hand and motions the door to unlock itself; he does not quite have the gall to send away his father. He remains face down on the bed, however, and does not rise even when he feels the bed dip beneath Laufey's weight. “Loki,” said Laufey softly, and Loki flinches.

“Ah, my little ice-flower,” sighs Laufey, cutting Loki to shreds with his kind tone. “I thought better of you than this.”

Loki pushes himself up and glares. He has not brushed his hair in days now and his fringe is a snarled mess around his horns, hanging hatefully down into his eyes. “Do not mock me,” he snaps, stiffening in outrage when Laufey reaches out and picks him up like a doll, setting him at Laufey's side and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“You make it easy,” Laufey tells him, a laughing look in his eyes even as he begins to sort the awful tangle of Loki's hair, at first with his fingers and then with a fine comb made of ice drawn from the air. “I know the Odinson cannot have done you wrong, or else you would be out for his blood rather than stewing in here. So what is the matter, Loki? Why have you let him slip away if you wanted him so much?”

Laufey knows little of Loki's plan, only that Loki wanted Thor and intended to snare him in this visit. He does not approve, but Laufey has learned over the years that his approval of what Loki wants matters very little in the end. Either Laufey will give in, or Loki circumvents him and gets it anyway. Once this had vexed him, but now Laufey tolerates most of Loki's antics with fond resignation, and Loki's fixation on seducing and wedding Thor Odinson was no different. Loki sighs and leans into his father's ministrations, wincing a little when Laufey finds a particularly stubborn knot. “I erred,” he confesses in a mumble. “I...he is gone now, and I cannot bring him back.”

“I am surprised indeed to learn that there is anything you will admit to being incapable of,” says Laufey gravely. “I am almost tempted to thank the Odinson for bringing such an event about, except that it has left you so unhappy.” He tilts Loki's chin up to look at him; Loki huffs irritably but meets Laufey's gaze, feeling awkward. “If you want him, little one,” Laufey says, a wry look in his eyes, “Go and get him.”

“He does not want me,” sighs Loki, breaking free of his father's hold and taking the comb to finish unmatting his hair himself. “I turned him away because I thought I would have reason to have him dragged back, but I do not. I was a fool, I should have...” He curls his lip in self-disgust and throws another angry look at Laufey. “Leave me be, father.”

“Would you like him dragged back here then?” asks Laufey, amusement in his voice. “I can have it done, if 'twill bring you out of this malaise. But I doubt you need my help to regain your lover. Go and find him, Loki. Cease this odious self-pity. Odinson has not rejected you, nor is he dead, he is just elsewhere and I refuse to believe that is such an obstacle that you have no power to overcome it. Your rooms are filled with pilfered trickets from across the realms – go and steal one more.”

Loki lets the ice comb melt between his fingers, frowning in thought. His father is...right. Thor is in another land, and Loki will not be able to bear children for another season at least, but he can scry for Thor's whereabouts easily enough, and Thor is not precisely difficult to seduce. He does not even have to wear his own shape – he has wandered all nine realms, but rarely as Loki Silvertongue of Jotunheim – and thus avoid the humiliation of being seen to trail Thor like a lovesick puppy.

Warming to the idea, he crosses over to a large mirrored table and touches it lightly, spreading frost across the surface and then tracing the runes for scrying. “Leave me be, father,” he says again, more commanding, and he hears Laufey's rumbling laughter behind him.

“I will speak to you later then,” says Laufey before leaving quietly. Loki pays him little heed; busily he goes to his spell-crafting shelves and fetches a small wooden box, carved with constellations on the lid. He opens it, and takes out the few strands of golden hair held within. Scrying is always easier with some part of the target to hand, and Thor's hair, plucked from his head while in slumber, is more than enough.

Loki drops the golden hair onto the scrying mirror and murmurs the necessary spells. Quickly, a vision blooms within the frost, of a sunlit land and lush forest. Loki leans closer, willing the spell to show him Thor's exact location. It gives him a pleasant enough view – Thor appears to be hunting, and also appears to have forgone armour and weapons to fight his foe. Bare chested and bare handed, he grapples with a gigantic wolf, leaping to dodge its vicious teeth and claws while striking blows at its side and back. It must be hot where he is, likely Vanaheim, Loki thinks distantly, as Thor's golden hair and skin is slick with sweat and gleaming. As Loki watches, the wolf launches itself at Thor, who does not move away in time and is thrown to the ground, the wolf's teeth goring into his shoulder. Loki makes a cry of alarm, and reaches out to press his hand against the icy glass, feeling sick with fear. There is blood pouring from the large wound in Thor's shoulder, and although the scrying mirror gives no sound it is clear the Prince is screaming in pain. Terror and bile rising in his throat, Loki thinks of the quickest way to Vanaheim. It will take an hour, at least, Thor could perish by the time Loki can get to him to help, idiot Thor, how dare he get himself killed rather than return to Loki's bed, the ungrateful, reckless bastard-

He does not move away from the mirror, unable to look away from where Thor is struggling beneath the beast as it mauls him. Somehow, someway, Thor manages to bring up both his arms and grab handfuls of fur either side of the wolf's head, and with impressive strength considering his wound, manages to snap the beast's neck. It collapses on top of him, and Thor lies panting for a moment, looking wrecked from the fight. Loki hesitates – he could go now, he could fly faster than he ever has to Thor's side and be the one to soothe his hurts, to press cool kisses on his hot brow and scold him lovingly, tell him what a fool he is for risking such a fight. There is not enough time, alas, and already Thor is shoving at the corpse and wriggling out from underneath it, dragging himself to his feet and prodding at his wound. He looks pale, and his chest is now slick with blood instead of sweat, and Loki swears quietly to himself, vowing that Thor will never take such a hurt again without Loki at his side to heal him. No matter that Loki's healing talents are next to none – Thor will just have to make sure he never gets a worse wound than a papercut from now on.

Thor staggers over to a tree and leans heavily against it, visibly gasping for breath. A dark haired man comes into view, running towards Thor; Loki thinks he recognises the man's face from the group of Asgardians sent with Thor, not that he paid any of them much heed. Loki leans even closer to the mirror, until his nose nearly touches the glass, wishing he was able to hear what they are saying to each other. The stranger helps Thor to sit and hands him a dull rock, which Thor crushes with surprising ease and then rubs the crumbling powder into his shoulder. A healing stone, Loki realises, one of Asgard's most potent magical relics, only meant to be used by warriors in the most terrible of battles. It works quickly – although Thor is still covered in blood he instantly looks less pained, and Loki can see the flesh knitting together even from afar.

Loki stands up, trying to control his frantic heartbeat. Thor is fine, Thor is well, he has not been lost. But it does quicken Loki's need to see him again even sooner. He still can't quite tear himself away from watching Thor, bloodied and half-naked, as he and his companion walk through the woods to where two horses are tethered, then set off riding along a grassy track. Impatiently, Loki looks along the road and spies a tavern ahead, with more Asgardians he remembers as Thor's companions. No doubt Thor will be resting the night there, and Loki banishes the vision excitedly, his plan now formed. He will go to Thor this evening in disguise, and seduce him all over again – this time with no end in mind but sharing his bed for the night.

Loki mulls for a time over what shape to wear to Vanaheim; he cannot go as himself, obviously, and it is a careful task to pick a form that will appeal the most to Thor's appetites. With some hesitancy, he shimmies into the body of a Vanir woman. It is one that will raise few questions – a native trollop throwing herself at the visiting Golden Prince is nothing new, after all, he thinks viciously. He gives himself curves as lush as those he had when Thor saw him, and keeps his dark hair, thick and lustrous. With some regret, Loki relinquishes his cock, as it will be hard to explain why a Vanir girl has the parts of a Jotunn between her legs, and he would prefer to keep this seduction as simple as possible. He will have Thor, and then he will leave Thor, and go to make a new plan for his life once the Prince of Asgard is truly nothing more than a notch on his bedpost.

Pleased at the thought, Loki stands before a tall mirror, admiring his new shape with its pink, smooth skin. The lack of lines on his body rather jarring, and with a pang he recalls the particular joy of Thor trailing worshipful kisses along them before and after fucking, how even as they drifted off to sleep together Thor's fingertips would trace the dimpled lines along his flank, seemingly unable to stop touching. Loki scowls and pinches his arm in anger, before raising his hands and summoning clothes from the air suitable for his scheme. He wears a long, green silk dress with black decoration around the hem, waist and neckline, which dips down to the top of the valley between his breasts, along with a pair of fine boots for his now vulnerable feet. After a little more thought, Loki fetches one of his own necklaces (a golden torc tipped with serpent heads); not a terribly remarkable piece, but one he had been wearing the night Thor finally came to his bedchambers. He does not expect Thor to recall it, but it pleases him to think that it could stir some memory within the Prince's mind that Loki might be able to tease from him.

Loki gives himself one more look in the glass, and winces when he sees he has forgotten to change his eyes. On a whim, he turns them green to match his dress, his true crimson eyes gone in a blink. He checks himself once more, then judges his disguise complete and sets off.  
The ways between the realms are complex and not easy to navigate, but Loki is an old hand at this and has forged a portal within the palace itself for his personal use. In the gardens, between two large rocks carved with images of Jotnar past, there is a hidden crevice, and through this slips Loki with a murmured spell.

In Vanaheim stands a great tree, tall and proud yet with a deep hollow tucked into the join of two branches. From here, Loki emerges an hour later, and climbs down from the tree, careful not to snag his dress or catch any stray twigs in his hair. The moment his feet touch the ground he starts hurrying through the trees, relying on memory to help him find the path.

~#~

Another hour later, Loki is moving through the crowded taproom of the inn to settle himself at the bar, buying a glass of wine with a seductive smile. From his perch he can see Thor holding court in the corner, now dressed in a blood-red linen shirt and black leathers, looking heartily refreshed from before. His hair looks dark and damp, the ends curling wildly as it dries; Loki takes a gulp of wine, suddenly feeling parched. He watches as Thor holds a large tankard aloft, the drink inside spilling as Thor makes a particularly dramatic gesture in his storytelling. Loki's fingers curl tightly around the edge of the bar to ground himself, to stop himself from flying across the room and hurling himself into Thor's arms. He is here to seduce, not to beg for attention.

Thor is surrounded by his friends, people Loki recognises from the scrying mirror, and Loki wonders how best to detach him from them. He wastes the time it takes to finish his wine in contemplating this dilemma, as well as how excellently the leather stretches over Thor's muscular thighs as he sprawls on a bench. Fortunately, fate looks kindly on him, and as he starts his second cup Thor yells for another round, slamming his oversized metal mug on the table in a noisy summons.

It's easy to take a large jug of fresh mead from a harassed looking barmaid and saunter over, leaning over Thor to fill his tankard and then straightening with a calculated wiggle. Thor's eyes are precisely where Loki intended them to be, and remain fixed on him as Loki fills the cups of his companions. There is the dark-haired man who helped Thor before, who nods his thanks silently; a man with a blond goatee who has his arms draped around a woman already but looks at Loki with almost as much lust as Thor; a woman, a warrior maiden whom Loki dislikes immediately, but she smiles gratefully for the drink and he forces himself to smile back just as pleasantly, and one more, a huge fellow who praises Loki's skill at pouring and then ruins the compliment with a belch.

“And what is your name, excellent barmaid?” asks the blond man cheerfully. “You have our most effusive thanks.”

“Ginna, sirs – and madam,” says Loki, fluttering his eyelashes coyly. He glances at Thor, annoyed that the Prince's attention seems to have wandered from Loki's person and he is now idly scraping a fingernail along the patterns engraved on his tankard. “Will there be anything else you need?”

The woman smiles again, and Thor is not watching her either so Loki can bear to smile back once more. “Not at present. We will call if we require anything more.”

Concealing his annoyance, Loki bobs a curtsey and returns the empty jug to the bar, stealing another cup of wine and hunching over it. He ponders what to do next – Thor's eyes had been fixed on his chest before, but apparently the Thunderer is just as fickle as Loki had feared. Quietly fuming, Loki finishes one cup and then another and another, watching Thor with increasing frustration. Not once does Thor look up to meet his gaze.

Eventually Loki turns away, wondering if he just give up and return home to Jotunheim. Too much wine on an empty belly has left him feeling a little sick, along with the miserable sensation of being less than ten feet away from Thor, and entirely ignored. What a pointless evening – there is nothing for Loki here. He stands up, slamming his cup down on the counter so hard it cracks, and begins to make his way to the door.

The taproom is even more crowded than when Loki first arrived, and he is clumsy with wine and misery. He stumbles in his long skirts, and is caught by a strong hand grasping his elbow, keeping him upright. Loki tries to pull away, having no desire to speak with anyone ever again, let alone feign gratitude for unwanted aid, but the hand does not release him. Loki hisses in annoyance, and turns to loose some of his venom on this oafish stranger, but-

-he finds himself standing only inches away from Thor, assaulted by his warmth and his scent and his terrible blue eyes. Loki is frozen to the spot, his mouth half-open from unspoken vituperation. Thor gives a wry smile and lets go of him, moving away to give Loki space when all Loki wants is to sink into Thor's broad chest and wind his limbs about him and never let go. “Apologies, my lady.”

Loki remembers how to breath, and is about to thank Thor as sweetly as he is able to when Thor speaks again. “It is my lady, isn't it?”

Colour floods Loki's pale cheeks – does Thor know? Has Thor, somehow, seen beneath Loki's illusion and recognised Loki for himself? Loki had no idea Thor was capable of such true-seeing, but he feels giddy with joy, ready to throw himself on Thor and reward him for such shrewdness. “You are perceptive,” he breathes, swaying closer until his breasts brush against Thor's shirt.

“You wear a very fine dress for a simple barmaid,” replies Thor with a smile. “And the ornament you wear – 'tis worthy of royalty.” Loki feels like laughing, and does, sliding his palms along Thor's thick arms up to his shoulders. He leans in for a kiss – but Thor leans gracefully backwards, avoiding Loki's mouth with a cautious expression. “I-my lady?”

Loki frowns, sensing something is wrong. “Yes, Thor?” he asks archly, stomach churning once again at the blank expression on Thor's face. There is no hint of recognition in Thor's eyes, only a look of bemusement. With a lurch, Loki realises – Thor does not see Loki, he sees a noblewoman unsuccessfully slumming in a tavern, too drunk to walk without stumbling and throwing herself at the first handsome man to touch her. Loki recoils in horror, overwhelmed by disgust.

“Are you alright, my lady?” asks Thor kindly – ugh, Loki wants none of that – “I would gladly escort you home, if you need it.”

I hate you, thinks Loki viciously, and wishes he had used Thor's hair for a death-curse instead. “I am fine,” he says with an icy smile, wanting to be as far away as swiftly as possible. “Thank you, your highness.” He starts to leave again, but Thor stops him.

“It is getting late, my lady,” Thor says, while Loki stares disdainfully at the hand now on his wrist. “Please, let me accompany you?”

“No,” snaps Loki, shaking Thor off and trying to think of the best way to lose him. “I have no desire for your assistance-”

“Then share a drink with me before you go?” Loki glances at him suspiciously, but Thor seems in earnest, for whatever reason, and he finds himself wavering. His original plan might succeed after all, now, although the idea has soured slightly since he thought Thor had recognised him for himself. “Please?” asks Thor, and Loki grudgingly agrees, allowing Thor to lead him over to a table and fetch them a pitcher of ale.

Loki regards Thor over the rim of his cup, appreciating the way the deep red of his shirt sets off the gold shine of his hair, the way his throat bobs as he drinks. Loki vividly remembers setting a ring of bitemarks around the base of Thor's neck, and shifts in his seat, feeling himself grow warm and wet at the mere thought of it. Thor has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and the shirt bunches over the muscles of his upper arms and shoulders, hinting at the gorgeous shapes beneath. Loki sighs quietly over his ale and props his arm on the table, pushing his cleavage forward for Thor to notice.

Thor does notice, or at least his gaze flicks down to the torc again before he meets Loki's eyes with a smile. “Ginna, yes?”

It makes a moment for Loki to remember that Ginna is his false name, and he nods. “And you are Prince Thor.”

“Have we met before?” asks Thor, still smiling. “There is something about you, Lady Ginna, that makes me certain we have.”

Loki tries to cover his irritation by drinking a mouthful of ale. “We have not,” he says, a little colder than he intended. Thor looks at him curiously, and Loki makes himself smile again, remembering that this is his only chance to coax Thor into bed. “But I am glad we are meeting now,” he adds with a coquettish look.

“As am I,” agrees Thor. “Where do you hail from, my lady, if I may ask?”

Whatever Thor's interest in this fictional woman's life, Loki has no desire to humour it. “I did not come here to discuss my home,” he says, “But rather to escape from it awhile.” Thor gives him a look of compassion, and Loki wonders what he is thinking. He sighs – he would have done better to dress in coarse linen than fine silk; a rough barmaid would find it less difficult to tumble the Prince of Asgard than a mysterious noblewoman, it seems.

“I understand,” says Thor with solemn sympathy, and reaches out to cover Loki's hand with his own briefly. The gesture makes Loki blink with surprise, and he looks up to see Thor looking unhappy. “I too, seek distraction.” He does not elaborate, and Loki touches his fingers to Thor's, attempting to give a look of muted curiosity rather than outright demanding from Thor what his problem is.

“What sorrows does the Prince of Asgard carry?” Loki prompts when Thor remains silent. Daringly, he brushes his fingertips over the back of Thor's hand, tracing over his knuckles.  
Thor gives a deep, heavy sigh, apparently indifferent to Loki's caresses. He stares morosely into his wine cup. “Love, Lady Ginna. What else but love?”

Loki's heart quickens with warring hope and suspicion. “You expect me to believe there is a being in the nine realms who would not fall into your arms, Prince Thor?” he teases lightly. It might be that Thor has been as miserable over Loki as Loki has been over Thor, but Loki does not quite dare believe it without Thor's confirmation this time. If not, if there is some other being who has stolen Thor's heart....then Loki has some hunting to do.

“My arms were not the problem,” replies Thor, managing a rueful smile. “Indeed, it was I who resisted him at first-” Yes, thinks Loki “-but he was...he had no wish for anything more. And when we had to part, it was if we were strangers.” The hurt look that Loki remembers is on Thor's face again, worse than before. He closed his fingers around Thor's, squeezing until Thor looks at him.

“Why did you have to part?” he asks, wondering how best to lead Thor back to his bed without revealing himself. “Was there...was it by choice?”

Thor shook his head slowly, looking down at their joined hands. “It was a diplomatic visit to his country, I could not stay longer without undue comment. We should not have...” he smiles again, a painfully private little grimace. “But we did, and I cannot regret it. No harm came from it.”

“Could you return to speak with him?” says Loki, burning with frustration. He wants to rip off his dress and his false face and reunite with Thor now, properly, but at the same time, he does not want to share this moment with any onlookers, or to have to explain his disguise. Thor is his, will be his, he is certain of that now, he just has to coax Thor into returning to Jotunheim so Loki can meet him as himself again.

“I have tried,” Thor replies unhappily. “I asked to visit his realm again for my own reasons, but my father fears risking the truce, and Heimdall will not let me through.” He gives Loki an apologetic look, and presses his hand before withdrawing it. “I am sorry, Lady Ginna, I did not mean to bore you with my unhappiness, when you are here to escape your own.”

“There are other ways between the worlds than the Bifrost,” says Loki, resisting the urge to pull Thor's hand back within reach. “Perhaps you could find your own way back to Jotunheim.”

Thor gives him a curious look, but Loki is beyond risk now. “Not ways open to me,” he says. “I have no magic, my lady.”

Loki reaches below the table and mimes taking something from his pocket. He makes a crystal in his hand, hurriedly formed from ice and his own magic, made to look like a gleaming sapphire set in gold. “Then I have a gift for you, Prince Thor,” he says, taking Thor's hand and pressing the gem into his palm.

Thor's instinct is to pull away, but Loki hold his wrist tight and looks at him steadily. “It will lead you to a secret path to Jotunheim,” he tells him, ignoring the narrowing suspicion in Thor's eyes. “And you will be able to speak to your Loki again.”

“I did not tell you he was Prince Loki, nor that my love lives in Jotunheim” says Thor slowly, and Loki decides it is time to return home.

He lets go of Thor and stands up, smoothing his skirts and giving Thor a sly look. “I guessed,” shrugs Loki. “It makes the best story, does it not – two Princes of different worlds, lost in love of one another. How could it be anyone else?”

“Loki does not love me,” replies Thor, his wariness replaced by misery again. He looks at the jewel in his hand with longing though, and Loki allows himself a secret smile of triumph.

“Go to him,” Loki tells him, moving around the table and close to Thor, reaching out to tilt Thor's chin up. He lets himself gaze at Thor for nearly a minute, before bending to brush a chaste kiss on his brow. “Thank you for your company, Thor.”

“Thank you,” echoes Thor, sounding utterly undone, and Loki slips out of the tavern before dropping his Vanir form for a hawk shape with a swift pair of wings, flying straight to the forest and his portal to home. He does not know how long Thor will take to get to Jotunheim, and he is determined to be ready.

~#~

It has been a week since he had met the strange Lady Ginna and she gave him the guiding gem. Even if Thor had wanted to test her claims immediately, he could not have simply left his friends in the middle of their trip together, and he had wanted to take a little time to think, first. But he has been thinking about Loki for weeks now, and it has got him nothing but several concerned enquiries about his health. Thor told himself when he returned home to put the Jotunn Prince from his mind and move onto more straightforward lovers and happier pursuits, but Loki haunts his dreams and thoughts in every idle moment. The sky is his skin, Thor's own cape is his eyes; he finds himself drawing Loki's markings on the table-top at dinner and his distraction is obvious to all.

It is foolishness. utter foolishness, and Loki will no doubt send Thor away with a flea in his ear for being so ridiculous. But Thor cannot turn away from the chance to speak to Loki again, alone, as lovers rather than fellow Princes, and so he takes out the gem and returns to Vanaheim to find the portal. He goes at night, to avoid having to explain himself to anyone else, but he knows Heimdall will be watching and he will be summoned to Odin for reprimand when he returns.

Thor's second entrance into Jotunheim is a great deal less dignified than the first. Rather than a quick burst of the Bifrost, this journey takes over an hour, walking through a grey, narrow gap carved between the worlds with an increasing sense of unease, before suddenly tumbling onto an icy path with little warning other than a blast of cold on his face. The gem, clutched in his hand, burns hot suddenly before melting into tepid water that drips onto the ground and steams a little.

Groaning quietly, Thor hauls himself to his feet and looks around, belatedly concerned about being seen. Thankfully, the courtyards are silent and empty at this time of night.

He creeps towards the palace itself, stealthy as he can be, and scans the balconies. He cannot quite remember if Loki's room overlooked this part of the grounds or not, and in the gloom it is impossible to tell. No matter – he will find his way as soon as he recognises something within the palace to guide him.

Thor sneaks through the tall archways into the palace proper, trying to quash his sudden doubts. He only wants to talk to Loki, as they had not done when he was last in Jotunheim. Turning up uninvited in the middle of the night is probably not going to endear him to the Prince, but hopefully Loki will have a little patience with him nonetheless.

The hallways of the palace are not as easy to discern as he had hoped, but they are fortunately empty as he wanders, keeping close to the walls and shadows. Suddenly, a weight barrels into him, throwing him against a pillar with a muffled grunt. Thor gasps, ready to strike out at his attacker before he feels the person shove themselves against him, body pressing hard against his own in all the best ways, cold fingers sliding into Thor's hair and forcing his face down.

“Where the fuck have you been, you useless bastard,” sighs Loki before crushing his mouth to Thor's, clinging even tighter. Thor, bewildered but pleased, wraps his arms around Loki, letting his cloak fall around cover them both. They kiss in hungry reunion, Thor's hands smoothing down the missed lines of Loki's back while Loki makes soft noises into Thor's mouth, his leg twitching as if he is seconds away from wrapping himself entirely around Thor in greeting.

It feels both strange and familiar, and for a moment the reason escapes Thor, until he realises that since he last saw Loki, Loki's heat has passed and his curves have vanished. The body now pressing against him is leaner and flatter than before, with little of the softness Thor remembers. Thor feels only a brief sting of regret, and looks forward to exploring Loki all over again as soon as he can.

Eventually they break apart for air, panting quietly and gazing at each other. Thor is too glad to have Loki in his arms again to bother with any questions or unasked for explanations yet, and simply looks his fill, enjoying the sight of Loki's face for the first time in weeks. “I missed you,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips up along Loki's cheek and down to his lips. Loki's eyes go heavy-lidded with lust and his tongue darts out to lick Thor's fingers, drawing them in to nibble at the tips. Thor shudders and pulls his hand away, kissing Loki again.

“I thought you were never going to come,” mutters Loki.

Thor begins to tell Loki that he will always return to him, but then wonders at the sulkiness of Loki’s tone . “How did you know I would return?” he asks. 

Loki scowls and looks away. “I didn’t know. I hoped.” He does not sound particularly truthful, and Thor’s mind flashes back to that evening in Vanaheim, Lady Ginna and her strange ways and familiar necklace. “Does it matter?” Loki snaps, pressing himself against Thor anew. “You are here again and I missed you, stop thinking and come to bed before someone finds us and we have to deal with you sneaking in here uninvited.”

“But I was invited,” points out Thor as they walk through the dark corridors together, more leisurely than than that first night. Being caught would probably be uncomfortable, but Thor has a feeling he is in less peril than he thought. “You...Loki, you are very strange.”

“And you are very stupid,” replies Loki tartly. “Why did you take so long to come back?” He curled his fingers around Thor’s in a cold, tight grip. 

“Why did you pretend to want nothing more from me than sex?” Thor retorts, squeezing Loki’s hand. “Why did you come to me in disguise instead of-”

“Stop asking stupid questions,” Loki tells him. He stops suddenly, frowning at Thor. “Were you truthful, in Vanaheim?”

Thor gazes at him, admiring the way he manages to look both proud and hungry. The moonlight sends silver fragments into his hair, and makes the lines on his face and body look black with shadows. “As you were false,” he says with a smile, tugging Loki close again and kissing him. “I love you, Loki.”

Loki leans into him, making a satisfied hum. “Good,” he says, winding his arms around Thor’s shoulders. “Now carry me.” Thor laughs but obeys, swinging an arm beneath Loki’s knees and lifting him against Thor’s chest. His heart is soaring with joy, and Loki nestles comfortably against his chest, one hand placed carefully over Thor’s breastbone and the other languidly directing him towards Loki’s bedchamber.


End file.
